He pulled a small, fat book, the antique sort with crumbling paper pages, from his pocket. He’d lost his pod to the vigilantes who had captured him, and he imagined they had destroyed it to prevent Superiors from tracing it to their hidden lair. All his reading material had disappeared along with the information of his whereabouts.
He read the remainder of the book, as well as he could. Some of the pages were fused together with water damage or mold. He’d found it in one of the cars in the lot where he slept. The book had belonged to someone for quite some time, judging by the creased spine and worn pages. He sometimes wondered who had owned the book, if the owner missed it, how many times hands had opened it and eyes passed over it. The book had a paper cover that had once held a picture, although he could not discern the image. The paper bent in ridges from water damage, but he could piece together the story well enough. He could tell by the story’s strangeness that it had been written by a human.
When he heard the street below coming to life, Draven closed the book and returned it to his pocket. Dawn was coming, and with it, Superiors.
He crossed the roof to watch the vehicles pull into the lot three stories below. Among them, he spotted Byron’s. Before retreating from view, Draven watched his old friend enter the building. Byron lived on the top floor, and Draven could hear noises even through the roof, although he could not distinguish the muffled sounds. Once more, he perched at the roof’s edge, above the garden. He listened for what seemed a very long time before he heard voices directly beneath him.
A baby cried.
Draven recalled the baby Byron had taken the night he had left Draven for dead. Draven would have died if not for the incubus who had saved him, the aptly named Angel. He put the thought from his mind with the others he kept at bay, thoughts of his human life and of his Superior life as the captive of humans, thoughts that, like the surface of the sun, were better glanced in passing from the corner of the eye than examined directly.
The baby ceased crying. Draven listened for a sound in the vacuum of silence from below. Though he could not hear breathing or heartbeats through the roof, he soon heard voices again, and the scraping and clanking of metal, a louder thump when something heavy landed on the floor in a gradual way, like different parts of it settled separately, like a body. More voices followed, a door closed, and a sapien cried. Even through the roof, he knew it was Cali. Though he had not known her voice among the others, he knew the sound of her crying. It was different from a voice, more recognizable.
He did not move from his spot. After so long, after such disheartening results that he’d nearly given up, he had found her. He could wait. He leaned back on the roof, letting the sky open upon him. Rain pelted his face and arms, cold and sharp as frozen splinters of wood. It washed away Cali’s scent, but still he did not move. He had found her. He had only sought her for a few years, nothing in a life of a hundred-and-something, but it seemed much longer.
As rain soaked him, he thought briefly of the book, wondered how many times it had endured this indignity. Though, like most of his people, he did not enjoy cold, tonight he welcomed the slant of frigid drops. He had needed a shower, and here it came. Not like the ones he’d enjoyed back in his apartment. Better.
He smiled into the gloomy sky, rubbing his face and hair with his hands until his skin stung. The wind batted at him, flipping the fabric of his clothing against his skin, cleansing him for the first time in days. Everything was new again, as absent of added scent as his skin was absence of its customary grime.
As he descended that morning, he took extra care not to slip. He’d rarely climbed in the rain, and sustaining an injury so near Byron’s building could bring dire consequences. He managed without incident, however. He moved through the streets, working his way back to the lot he called home, all the time watching for Superiors returning late from work. As usual, he swung over the fence, lifted the door of his solid-color car and fitted it back into place behind him. Rain and light leaked through a few holes in the shell, but not enough to drive Draven from his temporary home. He’d chosen a higher end model, as he had all the vehicles he’d inhabited since finding the lot. He had never and would never own such a vehicle, as they belonged only to Seconds, but he enjoyed the defiance of entering a car whose owner would have scorned him from touching it before it came to rest in its current locale.
Soon workers would come to dissemble this vehicle as they had his previous homes, taking the metal and parts to repurpose. For now, his path and the car’s had intersected in this moment of transition, and he had taken advantage. Perhaps it did not amount to much of a home, but it suited his needs. The morning rain drumming on the roof gave him the sensation of being sealed away from the rest of the world even more firmly than usual, secreted away in his renegade resting spot.
After covering himself with dry belongings so light wouldn’t reach him while he slept, he fell into peaceful unconsciousness, a smile still playing with his lips.
Chapter 8
Cali couldn’t sleep after Master left, so she got up and dragged her new chain around. Sure, it weighed more than the last one, but it allowed her more freedom, freedom that was well worth the price. She could use the floor toilet instead of the bucket, and Shelly didn’t have to take her waste to the toilet and wash the bucket every time she went.
And just as good, she could visit the garden again. She could just reach the far side of the garden and wrap her hands around the cold metal bars, or throw weeds out and look down into the garden below, the garden that had once held Martin and Terry and the baby. She turned away from it now. Every time she thought about Martin, a flicker of guilt passed through her. She’d hurt him during her own escape, and he’d been captured because of his injury. Cali didn’t know what had happened to him, but she’d never seen him again. Maybe his owner had sent him to the blood bank. That had happened to her the first time she’d tried to escape.
A man who rarely spoke had taken over the garden below. He wasn’t friendly like her old neighbors, and she doubted he’d ever include her in an escape plan. He was tall and bony and kept his head down as he tended his garden. Shelly liked to make up stories about the other saps they saw, and sometimes even the Superiors. He especially liked to make up stories about their new neighbor, Hap. Hap was mysterious, and therefore offered endless speculation.
“Hey, girl,” Shelly said from the doorway. He had his hip stuck out and the fat little baby in his arm.
“Look, I can help in the garden again,” Cali said, standing to demonstrate the length of her new chain. She had as much freedom within the apartment as she’d ever had, and escape didn’t sound like such a good option anymore. She still loved the idea of freedom, but escape held too much risk.
Shelly was right—what would she do once she got away? Live in the woods? In winter, she’d be neck-deep in snow, and she didn’t think boxes of food would magically fall from the sky when she got hungry. She’d have to make a garden, and that would be impossible in winter. If she waited until spring, maybe, but even then she’d need seeds to start a garden.
And now she had the baby to think about, too. If she ran, Master might kill Shelly trying to get information, and he would try to extract information by beating on the baby. That’s how he’d gotten her to confess a list of half-truths about her own failed escape. She hadn’t even known the baby yet, but when Master started hurting it, she thought she’d explode if she couldn’t make him stop. She would have said or done just about anything.
She kept telling herself not to get attached. But when she looked at the chubby boy chewing on his fist until spit ran down his arm and beaded on his elbow, she knew she’d already lost the battle.
“Gimme that baby,” she said, holding out her arms. Shelly deposited the baby in Cali’s arms and went back inside. “Hey,” she called after him. “I can finally get outside again. Don’t stay inside all day.”
“Some people got work to do,” Shelly called back. Cali took a deep breath. T
he storm had passed, leaving the morning wet and cold and heavy with a smell she’d never encountered. But she knew the message on the wind as if by instinct. Something urgent in the air said to gather and hoard and guard her baby and huddle closer to him and Shelly.
She took a last deep breath and went back inside, sliding the door closed behind her. “So what do we have to do today?” she asked. She put the baby on the bed. He immediately began to whine, and she picked him up absently before hobbling over to Shelly, dragging her foot behind her.
Shelly glanced at the chain. “Girl, that makes a lot of noise,” he said, shaking his head. “I told you not to run away. You know, you’re a dreamer, but I got the brains in this family.”
Cali laughed and Shelly did, too, swaying his hips in the girlish way he had. Now that Cali knew him, she couldn’t imagine that she’d ever thought he’d turn out to be her mate. That was about as likely as him being Master’s mate. Maybe less likely. But Shelly had become her best friend, the best she’d ever had, after several years of constant companionship. She loved him even more than she loved the baby.
“Okay, brains, what are we doing?”
“Well, dreamer, we’re putting up turnips.”
“Sounds good,” she said, though she didn’t much care for turnips. “Can the baby eat them?”
“Would you stop calling him ‘the baby’ already? His name is Leo, and just because you don’t call him by his name doesn’t mean you won’t get attached.”
“That’s not why.”
“Uh-huh, sure it’s not. You forget I know you, girl. I’m no fool.”
“Fine, maybe that’s why,” Cali said. “Now can we just put up these turnips and stop talking about the baby?”
“Leo.”
“Fine, fine. Leo.”
“I like the new leg chain,” Shelly said, handing Cali a bowl full of water and a bag of turnips. “Makes you walk ever so ladylike.”
“You just stop your words.” Cali plunged her hands into the cold water and rubbed the dirt off the skin of each turnip, handing it to Shelly as she finished. “Besides, you’re ladylike enough for both of us,” she added.
“True. But I was always more ladylike than you,” he said, ducking aside when she flicked water at him. “Now quit making me do all the work and get over here. I’ll show you how to put up turnips so they stay good all winter. We’ll be eating these until next summer.”
“That’s what you said about the squash.”
“No, we’ll only be eating that until spring.”
Chapter 9
Draven awoke with one thing on his mind. He eased the door open and scanned the nearby area. A bone-thin dog trotted across the barren earth and disappeared between two cars. Draven scented the air in the same manner that the dog scented the earth. After making certain the lot contained no person, he emerged. He scanned the lot and the surrounding area once more to confirm his isolation.
Since he’d scented Cali and heard her weeping, he’d thought of little else. He no longer possessed the capability to dream, but nonetheless, he knew he’d thought of her while he slept. Once outside his resting place, he stretched himself upwards and then to each side. The dog emerged from between two cars holding a rat in its teeth. It stopped and looked at Draven.
He spoke to it, letting it know he bore it no ill will. He’d once owned a dog, but like everything that lived and breathed and aged, it had left him long ago. This dog watched him for a moment before turning to move away into the jungle of machines.
Draven imagined the dog thought him harmless, and he smiled to himself. The most powerful creature on earth, yet not even frightening to a dog. He brushed the thought aside and set off for the fence, scaled it quickly and dropped to the other side. Usually he waited until full dark to begin his search, but this evening he wanted an early start. He wanted to see Cali.
He began working his way towards her sector. From somewhere far across the rooftops, he heard the chiming of bells. He stopped to appreciate the timeless sound, at once so ancient and so common. Long ago, he’d known the bells in Belarus, and he’d come to North America to find the same sort of tolling. He’d truly noticed them for the first time when he’d come down from his imprisonment in the mountains and heard them once more. Only then had he realized that months in their absence made him aware of their lonesome tolling. Every evening and every morning, as constant as the sun’s rise and set, the bells chimed.
When the last echo died away, Draven began his nightly excursion. This night, he had a destination in mind. The sky had darkened, but an orange glow clung to the horizon, the last shreds of sunset unwilling to relinquish the sun’s hold on the day. Already the evening grew cold, the wind sharp. Draven could savor wet leaves and, somewhere on the air, the whisper of coming winter. The scent was as old as the bells, as constant and as forgotten.
Not since Belarus had he known the changing of seasons. In ‘the Funnel,’ as most North Americans referred to the bottom part of their country where he’d lived for half his Superior years, the seasons were wet and dry. Here, like in Belarus where he’d begun his Superior life, four seasons came each year, each with its own set of problems and pleasures.
Draven took in the scents of the air and of the city, of evening and people waking, the scents of Superior food and human food. His circuitous route led him back to Byron’s building, and he landed with light-footed grace on the roof. He straightened and surveyed his surroundings. The sky had deepened to a darker blue, with one remaining slash of crimson in the west. For several moments, Draven crouched, listening, but he heard nothing from within.
He rose and crossed the roof to survey the parking area. Byron’s car occupied the same spot it had that morning. Draven circled the roof carefully. Usually, he crossed and departed so quickly he needn’t concern himself with being heard. On any other night, if someone grew suspicious and investigated their roof, Draven would be long gone. Here, he must use greatest caution.
If he could not take Cali tonight, he would have to return. He did not want Byron to know he’d found her—or that he could climb buildings. Though he assumed he’d always possessed the ability but had only now realized it, he didn’t imagine it was something Seconds wanted him to realize.
Draven settled onto the roof above Cali’s apartment and waited. He heard the same scraping he’d heard that morning, and again, voices followed. A baby cried and then stopped crying. The voices dropped lower so he could hardly hear them at all. Then a louder voice, Byron’s, came and went. He checked the parking lot and watched two cars leave—the first unfamiliar, the second, Byron’s. Draven crossed the roof yet again, and again waited for Cali.
For some time, he sat listening to the sapien noises below. At last, the scraping sound of a door opening reached him, and the scent of Cali floated up to greet him.
He stilled, stunned by the sharp pain that shot through his drawing teeth when he inhaled. He’d forgotten the power of her aroma, the hunger it awakened in him each time he encountered it. Hers was the scent of warmth, of something long forgotten, something deep within his core, perhaps from when he himself had produced such inner warmth.
When he heard someone enter the garden below, Draven dropped down the side of the cage, landing with his feet between the bars. A sap stood in the garden. It was not Cali.
“Hello,” Draven said quietly.
The sapien let out a cry of surprise, his hand flying to his heart, which began beating quite quickly. “Oh my lords, you scared the hair off me,” the sapien said, backing towards the door. This movement always amused Draven. Did saps think he didn’t notice the movement? Why not run for safety?
“I’ve no wish to harm you,” Draven said. “I only wish to speak to Cali.”
“Cali?” the boy asked, regarding Draven suspiciously. “Who’s Cali?”
“The female who lives here with you and the baby. I would like to see her, if that is possible.”
“And what if it’s not?” the boy asked, groping
for the door behind him.
“Then make it possible,” Draven said.
“I can’t.”
“Then I shall stay all night, and your master will wonder very much what I’m doing here when he returns.”
“He’s home now,” the sapien said. “I can go call him and he’ll chase you off. He’s real mean. And important.”
“Indeed,” Draven said. “But he’s not home. I watched him leave only moments ago.”
“Well, neither is this Cali person you’re looking for.”
“Still your mind, I’ll not harm Cali. Have her come to the door, and if she does not wish to speak with me, I’ll leave. I cannot reach you from here.”
The sapien kept his eyes on Draven while he backed inside.
Draven waited. After a time, Cali slid the door open a bit and peered out with one eye, her hair covering half her face. She did not move forward to greet him.
“Cali,” he said, reaching through the bars towards her. Still she did not move, and he let his hand drop. “Do you not remember me?”
“Umm….”
“Se moi,” he said, trying not to show his disappointment. He’d come so far, endured so much, for a sap who no longer knew him. “Draven,” he added as a reminder.
“Oh. Really? Is that really you?” she asked, opening the door a bit further and slipping out. She stood blocking the space she’d come through. “Take off your hat.”
Draven pulled the merino cap from his head, and they eyed each other. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said.
“You have? Why?”
“Do you not remember?” he asked. “I was there that night. With the runaways.”
“I thought…I dreamed that,” she said slowly.
“No. Come and let me see you. You have a baby now. Is that male your mate?”
The Renegades (The Superiors) Page 3